


Icarus

by Matchgirl42



Series: Follow Me Through This Darkness [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Devotional sex, I mean, I promise, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Polytheism, Religion, Religious Sex, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, a lot of canon is there, but it diverges, it's an AU thread weaving it's way through canon, myth, not playing fast and loose with mythology, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matchgirl42/pseuds/Matchgirl42
Summary: This is the sequel toLightbringer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time coming, I know. The first thing to know about me is, I don't post updates regularly. Especially when life and other responsibilities intrude. The second thing to know about me is, I love cliffhangers.
> 
> This first, small chapter is world-building. Steve and all the rest of the characters are coming. I promise. And more characters will be added as the story progresses.

Deep in the mountains of Iceland on the southeast part of the island, the range that would come to be called the Landmannalaugar, shrouded in perpetual mist, there lies a sheltered valley.

For the longest time, since the lava pushed it's way out of the sea and formed the land mass, this valley was uninhabited except for the various plants that grew from the seeds the birds dropped there. The birds and the animals avoided the mountain range; the land knew constant upheaval because of the geothermal activity there. The soil was constantly pushed upwards, and turned over as if by an invisible hand. But for all that, the sheltered valley was quiet. Almost _too_ quiet. 

When the Gaelic Christian monks came from Ireland in the late 700s, they knew enough to avoid the mountainous area where the valley lay, and stuck closer to the southern shore of the island. Many did not stay long, and of those that did, a number of them died young from the harsh climate and privation. When the Vikings arrived 50 years later – fleeing the brutal conquest of King Harald I of Norway - there were few of the monks left, and they soon found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the Viking settlers and their thralls. These Vikings had brought with them their faith in the Norse Gods, the Aesir. They brought the entire pantheon with them, but one of the gods stood out from the rest – he that is named, Loki.

The worship of Loki has always been different than the worship of the other Aesir Gods. It is those who find themselves in dire need that seek Him out, for He has long been known as the light-bearer to those who find themselves in dark times. The worship of Loki follows no rules, no norms, and no bounds. Those in need offer, and if they are accepted, then they receive in return. Those who are different, whose spirits can not be contained by mortal rules, find shelter with Him. And those whose pride overcomes their good sense sometimes find themselves learning some much-needed humility at His hand.

The holy ones who have always tended His shrines number among them those whose spirits were too big to be encompassed by just one gender. It was one such being who, following the guidance heard within, sought out and found the sheltered valley within the mountains on the southeast part of the island, shortly after the Vikings landed and settled on the island. And it was there, at the end of a long and dangerous trek, that those who found themselves in need of Loki's help found it. Lightbringer, they called Him, and the light he brought with Him was indistinguishable from the sky lights when viewed from the settlements to the south.

Over time, the shrine grew from a simple grotto of stone and ice, to a low building made of driftwood lovingly carried from the shoreline through the labyrinth of the mountains. Even when missionaries brought Christianity back to the island, and when Christianity became the official religion there, the shrine was lovingly tended, and there were those who still made the long, difficult and dangerous trek to seek His help. Years passed, and the low building grew to a larger temple built of stone. And this temple too, over time, was embellished and refined.

But then as more years passed, the temple became more and more forgotten. The number of holy ones attending it dwindled until at last there was just one old man, doing his best to maintain the temple that no one came to anymore, until the day his body gave out and he expelled his last breath, in the shallow grave he had dug for himself in the fertile soil of the valley. In its constant upheaval, the soil came to cover his body; and a passing bird dropped a seed onto the grave which, over time, grew into a beautiful rowan tree.

The temple grew neglected; dust gathered, moss grew on the stones, and grass grew to the height of a man outside its walls.

But still, every once in a blue moon, when all other options had been exhausted, troubled souls find their way through the mountains to the temple.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More worldbuilding, (probably should have included it with chapter 1, but alas, hindsight is ever 20/20) but there will be actual action and dialogue next chapter, I promise!

1500 earth-years ago, a child was born in Jotunheim. Not an especially rare event, the birth of a child - even on an ice-locked planet such as Jotunheim. But this babe was different. Not just physically - although it is true that it was small for a Frost Giant's offspring. Not just for its ancestry, although it is true that the babe was the first-born of Laufey, king of that realm. No, what set this birth apart was the magic it already possessed at birth, something heretofore unheard of among the Frost Giants.

Oh, they had their magicians, their wizards, this is true. But none had before shown signs of possessing their magic until well into their first century of life.

And oh, this babe _glowed_ with its magic. There were whispers in the halls of power, that this birth was a sign, a sign that it was now time for the Frost Giants to expand their rule past the borders of their own realm. This suited the ambitions of Laufey just fine, for he chafed under the legacy left behind by his father, and was determined to make his own glory even higher. And that of his people and his realm, of course.

And so he looked down upon the small babe glowing with power and a brightness to match the Ancient Casket of Winters. He listened to the excited murmurings of his people, and he set about to both reinforce and inflame those murmurings until his people were thirsty with battle lust. And so Laufey left the babe with his queen, took his army and, with the power of the Casket, they invaded Midgard, least of the Nine and thus an easy conquest.

What they did not count on, however, was Asgard's fierce response to their invasion. The Frost Giants were denied their easy conquest, and beaten back to their own realm. Laufey's queen, hearing the battle approaching the castle, left her precious babe with the priests of the temple and went to find her king, to either fight by his side, or die with him. She reached the valley he was in, looking up at the tower in fear, just as the Odin All-Father, one eye streaming blood yet still fierce as ever, forced Laufey down into the ice and snow to surrender at the end of his spear.

When the battle was long over, and the last of the Asgardians had left Jotunheim to lick it's wounds, the royal couple went to the temple, only to find it empty. A search was organized, and the priests who were left in charge of the babe were found among the dead. But there was no sign of the child.

A great wailing went up in the ice fields of Jotunheim, such as never had been heard before. Their two greatest treasures – the Casket, and the magical babe – were gone.

The queen, in her grief, wandered the abandoned ice plains of the realm, crying out for her lost babe. She was never heard from again.

And Laufey - he slunk into the ruins of his castle, defeat dragging down every bone in his body. Not only had he failed to surpass his father's glory, but he and Jotunheim both had fallen further than at any part in the realm's storied history.

\---------

1500 earth-years ago, Asgard and it's king, Odin All-Father, went to war against the Frost Giants, responding to their invasion of Asgard's protectorate, Midgard. Odin's queen, Frigga All-Mother, stayed behind in Asgard to rule in her husband's place, watching the army march through the BiFrost with a young toddler – born two years prior, and blond-haired and blue eyed like both his parents – clutching at her skirts.

She had just suffered a miscarriage a month prior; and while physically she was healed, and she did everything she could for the sake of her living child, her heart was aching for the other child who had barely stirred underneath her heart before she had lost it.

When her husband came back at the head of the remnants of their army – so few returned, so many brave gifts of life cut short in their prime to the jaws of war – she welcomed him, as a queen and a wife properly should. But it wasn't until later, in their private apartments when Odin placed the small babe in her arms, that the deepest recesses of her heart began to mend. This child was alive, and needed her. That was all she needed to know, but she listened gravely as her husband explained where the child had come from, and what it represented.

As her husband spoke, the child stirred in her arms, and blue eyes stared up at her in the innocent wonderment that only small children possessed. And then something moved within him, and the babe's magic reached out to her own, like recognizing like, two kindred spirits meeting and recognizing one another.

And in that moment, Frigga, Queen of Asgard and the Nine Realms, wife to Odin, felt her heart made whole, and swell with love for this small child. Her firstborn was growing up much like his father, and that she didn't begrudge; but this child, she could already see, would follow in her footsteps.

“He shall be named Loki,” she murmured, and Odin agreed that it was a good name for a son. Their other son – Thor – chose that moment to come barreling through the door, and stopped short at the sight of a child in his mother's arms.

Frigga looked up and beckoned him closer. “Come, Thor, and meet your new brother – Loki.”

With all the caution of any young creature faced with something new, Thor slowly edged closer and closer to his parents, ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. But when he reached his mother and gazed down at the child in her arms, his face transformed into wonder. He reached out a hand, and the babe reached out too, and grasped Thor's hand in his own. There was a clash of thunder overhead, and the parent's eyes met over the heads of their sons. But Thor had no eyes for them, only for the babe. And he smiled as the babe grasped his finger tightly, and cooed at him. And Thor cooed at him in return.

And when, several months later, the child was presented as the second son of Odin and Frigga, and second heir to the throne of Asgard, there was a great cheer that rose among the Aesir, and not even a whisper could be heard of this child not being a rightful son of Odin.

And hundreds of earth-years later, the tales and exploits of both Asgardian princes were well ensconced in the lore of the Norse, Celtic and Germanic peoples of Midgard; and both had their followers and worshipers, young as they still were. Thor, the mighty warrior who, at the tender age of 300 could already best men twice his age; and Loki, whose magic and tricks were already legendary among the Aesir, and even more so among the Midgardians who worshiped them as gods.

And more than a thousand earth-years later it was a descendent of one of those worshipers who, in the dust and dirt of an old city in a young nation, months after her husband had died in the first world war, gave birth to a small, feeble son. And she named him Stephen.

The doctors all told her that her son would not live long; but he had been gifted with all the tenacity and stubbornness of her Celtic ancestors, and against all odds, he survived.

 


End file.
